Vignettes
by Tethys' Dream
Summary: Sarek thinks about his relationship with his wife, Amanda Grayson and contemplates their relationship has affected their son and how it will continue to affect his future.


Only now does the realization dawn on him that he never told his son how much he loved Amanda. He wonders if it was a disservice. When his son was younger, he had merely assumed that this was the best thing the do, assuring himself that would have been unfair to influence his son in the choice he would eventually have to make between heritages. Now he is not so certain. They both have much to grieve for. But now, he wonders if he has given his son the fortitude to do so, or if in this task he has failed his son. He had been shocked by his son's violence at the insult to his mother, but not surprised. In a way, he was relieved. It reassured him that however Vulcan he might appear, his son was Amanda Grayson's child as well. She had been a woman of many passions, and his son's outburst proved that these would not die with her.

….

Traitor they had called him. Abomination they called his son. Of his wife they said even worse, not even bothering to couch their opinions in soft tones and oblique references as would a Terran. But she seemed not to mind, reminding him that what mattered was that she was here with him and their son. And, he told himself, that the taunts would make his son strong. Strength was a value in which they all believed.

….

He had met his future wife while serving as Ambassador to the newest addition to the Federation of Planets. He had considered himself a seasoned diplomat, well able to move in whichever circles were required for him. But sent, alone to this new world of bewildering customs, he found himself quickly overwhelmed.

Amanda Grayson had been assigned to him upon his arrival. She was an experienced diplomatic attaché. His first impression of her had been nothing out of the ordinary. She was unobtrusive. She wore her hair in a neat plait that hung down the middle of her back. She was unerringly polite. She displayed both a cool confidence and a brisk efficiency.

At first he had merely tolerated her presence, slightly offended that the need for such assistance had been assumed. He was unused to working with other people. There were small things that bothered him. For instance, she spoke his language, not to mention several others, more fluently than he spoke hers. Her lips seemed garishly, obscenely red though he understood this to be "fashionable" on this strange world. She was able to step in and smooth situations while seemingly remaining uninvolved, finding ways to placate all parties while apparently offending none. An ability he lacked, and that was apparently—especially here—necessary. There were times when it seemed a farce that he had been assigned to this position. Had it occurred to him, he would have wished to have been sent home. It did not occur to him.

….

He had come to rely on her more than he could have been predicted. It had been she who had guided his way through this new—and to his eyes—frightening world. Here, he felt countrified; unsophisticated. It had been she who had given it all a context for him.

At first it was small things. Showing him which utensil to use and how to use it at dinner. Practice in the proper forms of greeting—how to shake a hand, and when not to. Subtle shakes of the head when he was wandering into unknown territory to steer him onto the correct path. She taught him how to listen and wait until the other person revealed information. She helped him with his pronunciation and his definitions.

He did not understand smiles, and had found laughter vulgar, inwardly cringing when faced with a laughing person. She patiently explained to him what this meant, making him watch old movies over and over to help him understand how facial expressions contributed to understanding. She would slip him notes that said things like "She's telling a joke. Do not take what she is saying literally. Try to smile." She would slide it across the table and look at him expectantly. He would feel rewarded by observing her tiny smile in acknowledgement if he had performed correctly.

….

How many individual moments had taught him to respect her?

One in particular. He knew she had been trying to get his attention, pointedly tapping her pen and squeaking her chair, but he had been pointedly ignoring her. He was in the middle of a difficult negotiation and was about to concede a fairly major point when she had suddenly stood up, walked behind him and placed a hand gently on his shoulder and leaned towards him. "Wait," she murmured. "He is going to capitulate." Her breath, sliding silently past his ear, made him feel slightly faint. He quashed the sensation immediately, maintaining the presence of mind to listen to her. She had not waited for a response, instead sliding silently out of the room, returning with a plate of refreshments as though this were routine. And, in the end, she had been right. He had been proceeding hastily. Had it not been for her quick thinking, the negotiation would have gone poorly.

It was the moment when she had spoken to him, though, that he would visit with curiosity. That moment was not routine. It left him wondering at the force of his reaction not to her advice, but to her presence.

….

It had come over him gradually. But he had no awareness that it extended beyond himself. The night he told her his term as ambassador was ending she had responded typically with one of her polite, tight smiles. But he was not prepared for how huge her eyes looked. Or how she had begun to flutter about the office they shared. Or of how much he wanted her not to be smiling. He was becoming too much like them. Perhaps it was good that his term was ending, lest the Terran corruption erode him too deeply.

"Of course," she said. "I knew your term was ending. How silly of me to have forgotten. Of course...of course." Her mouth opened as if she were going to add something. "I…" He paused, curious. But her mouth closed again as she turned back to her rustle of papers. She wasn't going to continue her thought. Taking this to mean that the conversation was over, he turned to leave, leaving her to…whatever it was she was doing.

Maybe he had still been listening, waiting for her to add something, because when the words came they were barely above a whisper. Had he not been waiting for something, he would have failed to hear them. "I will miss you," she said softly to his back. Not knowing how to respond, he did not acknowledge her words. He did not turn around.

But later, alone in his small chambers, he found himself thinking about the words. Amanda had not said, "I'll miss _working _with you." Had she said "I will miss _you_?" Or maybe what she had really said was _I_ will miss you. What could she mean? Was she sorry that this period of employment of ending? Perhaps she regretted that her compensation would now be in flux. Did she wish that he was staying? Was she merely being polite?

Four words. She had said four words. He wished she had said them in his own language so that this ambiguity would not have existed. But that would have been an inappropriate informality, and he was certain that she respected him enough to avoid it, probably knowing how uncomfortable it would have made him. He found himself no less uncomfortable ambiguity that currently existed.

The absurdity of the situation was unbearable.

…

He confronted her in his office several days later. At his greeting, she jumped and whirled around to face him, startled. "What!" she snapped, as if irritated at the interruption. She looked slightly disheveled and he could see that she had spent some time in this room, preparing for the removal of its occupant.

"I should very much appreciate it if you would come with me."

Her face blanched as she stared back at him. "Oh, I…I'm not sure what…I don't speak well enou…"

His had not said it correctly. The ambiguity was still there. He began again, thinking carefully about the emphasis on the words. He began again. "I should very much appreciate it if you would come with _me_." He held out a hand tentatively in her direction, only to watch her back away.

Two points of color shone high on her cheeks now. She seemed to have regained her composure, and to his surprise seemed to be radiating a sense of challenge. Her head was held high. "I am pleased that you are satisfied with my service, but I don't feel that I would be able to serve you in that capacity…"

"Ms. Grayson," he said, more abruptly than usual. I am not asking you to continue in my employment."

"Then I'm afraid I don't understand, Ambassador Sarek." She had come to stand near him. Her arms were folded tightly across her chest. He was acutely aware of the challenge that faced him.

"We work well together, Ms. Grayson."

She cocked an eyebrow as she responded slowly, studying his face. "We do." She was appraising him now. He knew that look. She was waiting for the clue that would give her his meaning—a trick that, ironically, she had taught him.

"We," he began helplessly. Then, struck with a sudden revelation, he added, "I will miss you." Her response was a wrinkled forehead and a slightly cocked head. "My responsibilities do not allow me to stay here," he continued. "That is why I want you to come with me. Not as my secretary. So we can…So I…"

And suddenly, her composure which he had so long admired, vanished. Was she crying or was she was laughing? She sat down heavily in a chair behind her and put her head in her hands while her body shook. He was unable to interpret this behavior, and felt oddly embarrassed by this. Had he been of her species, he was certain he would have known what to do. As it was, he could only guess. He crossed the room towards her, but hesitated, perplexed. Perhaps she wanted him to go away.

"Ms. Grayson? Ms. Grayson?" he called to her. "Is something the matter? I apologize if I've offended you. Ms. Grayson. Ms. Grayson?" He was helpless.

When her shoulders stopped shaking, she raised her face to look at him. Her eyes were shining. "No, you haven't offended me. Quite the opposite, Ambassador. I…" And in one swift movement, she stood and had wrapped her arms tightly around him, face buried in his chest. "Thank you," she murmured. "I thought it was just me. I didn't know you…thank you so much. Of course. Of course I'll come with you. I'll come anywhere with you…"

He stepped back from her slightly, because he wanted to see her to reassure himself that he was interpreting this situation correctly. It was then oddly that he found himself bending to meet her lips. It was a familiarity which he could never have imagined had not this moment taken place. He had experienced the _ponn farr_ several times of course—he was no longer a young man--but this was different. Those experiences had always left him with a strange sense of humiliation, which, however unjustified, nevertheless remained, like a bitter aftertaste on the tongue. The _ponn farr_ was, after all, surrender to one's basest nature. But this was not surrender into some primordial self. This was an illustration of sorts. Showing this other person how he felt about her. Connecting with her on his own terms, not because nature demanded it. The fact that it seemed to be reciprocated was truly incredible. He knew in that instant that what he had said was true. He needed for her to stay with him. He would never have known this sensation if she had not existed or if his planet had chosen someone else to represent Vulcan. He shuddered to think what else he would discover that he might never have known without her and drew her even closer.

….

Would he always remember Amanda this way, he wondered. In vignettes? Curiously, he had never been taught to remember people. Only theorems and facts, ideas and places. But not individual people. Of his own parents, he had only hazy memories, and certainly no mementos to remember them by. His culture placed no value on these things, these accoutrements of a life. And had he possessed these, some sacred item fingered by his mother or created by his father, would it have made a difference or would he simply have had a more cluttered life?

….

He had been stunned when he had first seen her dressed in the traditional clothing of his people. It did not give him a sense of possession of her—though he suspected in a lesser being it might have. Rather there was something in their formal elegance seemed to suit her. Not that he had ever seen her in anything less than suitable. But the earthiness of the colors, the richness in the texture of the brocades, these elements made her seem softer. As if, as he admitted to himself only much much later, by making herself into something more familiar she became even more desirable to him.

Perhaps it was because in renouncing her world she had taken on his. He had had neither the courage nor resolve to do the same for her. This solution, if it could be called that, was inequitable. In odd moments, for the rest of his life, he would be struck by this, overawed by the gift she had given him, and in the end, because she had given him no less than herself. He had tried to do the same, but he wondered if he was enough for her. His people never ceased to regard her with a kind of reserved suspicion. Still, she had never seemed to question her decision or his motives. Eventually, it had stopped bothering him on a conscious level. And that…had that too been an error on his part? Letting this consciousness slip away?

…

She made her place with him, as calmly and as confidently has she had made it on her own world. Only occasionally he was aware of her moments of sadness or frustration; moments that she tried to keep hidden from him, aware, perhaps, of how a misstep on her part would reflect poorly upon him. Though they were accepted, he as her husband, she as his wife, they also occupied a place apart on his world. In this corner, they both existed in large part for the other, and eventually for the shared blessing of their son. Her presence had made his life richer and fuller, though the struggle between his commitment to this woman and to his own world was omnipresent.

….

In the beginning, especially, he knew it had been difficult for her. Her smiles were rebuffed by his unsmiling people. She was not included in the routines so familiar to him. She was lonely without him. When he would arrive home and share elements of his day, she would fuss and stamp her feet and complain about his superiors as she bustled around the apartment she shared banging pots and slamming doors. Initially, he had found these public outbursts (even if they did occur behind closed doors) painful reminders of what she was not. Eventually, though, the ritual had become comforting, and he had ceased wishing she were something she was not, appreciating instead what she was. The time had come when he understood that this was what she needed. He cherished the times when he would gather her close and feel the tension stream out of her body. He'd feel the rumble of a giggle against his chest or a touch on his cheek and know that she loved him. She would remind him periodically of this saying, "You're wonderful, Sarek, you know that? Always remember that." as if he might have forgotten that she felt this way. He came to understand that she needed him as much as he needed her. That was the real treasure.

….

Those initial days of heat and fire had died into something more manageable if no less amazing to him. It never occurred to him that other couples felt like this; he had certainly never seen manifestations of this in his own family. It was like living a double life—one at home and one in public. Gradually he had come to accept that this was the way things were.

….

The miscarriages had changed her. Somehow they made her more like one of them. He knew of her desire to have a child. "Not any child," she told him. "Our child." But it had not been so easy. She had been so delighted when she first got pregnant, only weeks later to dissolve into a grief so intense he could not bear to look at her as the child's brief life dissolved into lumps of grayish tissue. He told her he was sorry, that there would be others…that it didn't matter. She fiercely insisted he was wrong. That it did matter. There might be others but there would never be _this_ one. And so the cycle began, pregnancies acknowledged only to slip away. Doctors insisted it was not reasonable to expect that she would be able to carry his child. Their species were similar but not the same. Were she to produce an offspring, it would likely be sterile.

She stopped consulting physicians. She grew silent and brooding. She stopped sharing the inner machinations of her body with him. All that she used to show outward turned inward. She became introspective. It occurred to him that this was how he had wanted her to behave initially. Now that he had this "ideal" wife before him, there was something missing. He suspected she believed that it was a failure on his part that she could not carry his child. He did not know how to tell her that she was anything but a failure to him. Or that he was not a failure because he had her.

….

Finally her efforts paid off and she bore him a son. The only child she would ever have, but she was content. Holding the small bundle, she presented her son to him. "There, you see Sarek? We've proved it can be done. Your doctors were wrong. He was meant to be." Her smile was radiant. It was the only hint she ever gave him that she had ever doubted their relationship.

….

Spock, well, Spock changed everything. To Amanda, he meant completion. Justification of her marriage. That she was part of a family and part of a community. She gathered strength and pride in her bright child. Sometimes he wondered if she would have stayed with him had not they shared a son. But he was not comfortable thinking about this. He found himself fearful for his child, too. He was not quite accepted here anymore because of his choice of Amanda, and knew that it would be even more difficult for his son. He became a strict father. "More Vulcan than any Vulcan I've ever known," Amanda would snap at him in frustration. It was not coldness, he argued, it was dignity and respect that he was teaching his son. Two traits he needed to survive in this world. "There's more than just your world!" she would shout back. He knew she was right and he also knew that she might be dangerously wrong.

Amanda taught Spock about emotions. He taught his son about discipline and control of emotions. His theory was that the boy could choose his own path when he gained majority, but he could only do so if he'd seen appropriate behavior modeled. How could something that seemed so reasonable at the time now seem so pointless? Maybe Amanda was right—he had inhibited his son's emotional development. But then, Spock also had a mother to learn from. It hadn't occurred to him until now how they might unintentionally spent their son's childhood tearing him in opposite directions.

….

He could not remember a time when he had not been aware that it is impossible to know when the end will come. People will ever predict and speculate and wonder. But in the end, it is always a surprise, or at the very least, surprising. In the one moment she existed in the next she was gone. It made pragmatism difficult. Pragmatism, that most desirable of all traits. Of course the end always comes. And when it does it is over. Another moment succeeds it. There is no sense of wasting thought on the loss because nothing would change the fact of the loss.

He watches his son struggle with this lesson. He thinks about his own life. That is not true. Everything can change.

He suspects that this too, this ability to understand that, is another thing of value that Amanda brought to him

…

Looking at his people now, those who are left, he wonders. Are they too, looking back? Trying to find a way to mesh their past and all that they had known with this new unforeseen unknown? Or are they only looking forward from this point? After all, they know as well as he that it is pointless to place blame or ponder losses. He cannot tell by studying their faces. Is this really logical or does it mean that they are ever destined to live a shallow existence, doomed to live only in the present, past and future merely shades of what once was or what could be?

He doesn't know any more. Like his son he has existed for too long amongst two worlds. The edges have blurred and melded. Unlike his son, he does not have the ties to draw upon both worlds for strength. But he does have the memories of his wife and the lessons she has taught him.

….

The place in which they will eventually settle is unknown. There are three possibilities:

1.) His culture with all of its values and ancient beliefs, will perish.

2.) His culture will survive intact.

The third possibility is the most likely. 3.) His culture will survive, albeit as a hybrid. For in the presence of other worlds and other cultures, hybridization can mean the difference between life and extinction. He realizes this was what Amanda had taught him. This joining of worlds, though complicated and fraught with missteps, misunderstandings and fears, is not to be dreaded, but celebrated.

He can see the success of this experiment in the strong eyes of his son, who certainly possesses a depth of understanding and compassion that he keeps carefully hidden, as befits his Vulcan heritage. He saw it when his son rejected his appointment to the Vulcan Academy of Sciences. He can see it now as his son tries to save the remnants of all that he had once known. It is his responsibility as a father to help his son navigate the transition between what has been and what will be. It is time.

Now is the time to tell his son about love.


End file.
